


a panting mess

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wet & Messy, grif is such a slob its borderline a fetish, grif: what the fuck do you mean BORDERLINE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 05:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Gross enough to scandalize, yet sexy enough to paralyze any complaints.





	a panting mess

He’s too tidy.

Simmons showers every day, sometimes twice, brushes his teeth thrice, washes his hands near compulsively, keeps his nails clean, refuses to wear anything with a stain, and changes all of his clothes daily. He looks like a doll still stuck in its packaging, untouched. It’s ridiculous. It’s tiring just to look at.

It’s strangely irresistable. That perfect neatness keeps bugging him, and Grif can’t stop thinking about all of the different ways he could ruin that neatness. It would be so easy. Just one little imperfection would spoil the whole thing.

He’s gonna heap more than just one little imperfection on him, though. 

So, one evening, when they're fucking around on their phones, waiting out the commercial break, Grif looks at his dumb fucking game of Candy Crush, and then over at Simmons. Simmons, whose posture is so prim and proper his back isn't even leaning into the couch, his clothes still uncreased and spotless even though the day is almost over. Candy Crush. Simmons. Candy Crush-- ah, fuck it, he already knows which one of them is gonna win his attention for the night. He idly throws his phone over his shoulder. Whatever, it's got a cover on, and Simmons takes care of all of that insurance shit anyways. 

"Grif!" Simmons looks up at the sound of Grif's phone thumping onto the floor, brows creasing, his own game of Angry Bird forgotten. "I told you, just because I insured it doesn't mean you can just throw--" 

Grif smacks Simmons' phone out of his hands. This would normally piss him right the fuck off, except that Grif is an ingenious tactician with excellent timing, and made sure he was kissing him first. Simmons, even after years of dating, is the kind of sappy loser whose brain bluescreens just a moment every time Grif ambushes him with a surprise attack of affection, sexiness, or his ultimate weakness-- affection and sexiness at the same time. Sexy affection. Sexfection. 

He snakes a hand around Simmons' back, easy to do with the access his stupidly good posture is giving him, and reels him in closer on the couch until their sides are pressed up against each other. His free hand settles on the side of Simmons' face because he's a sucker for corny shit like that (okay and maybe Grif too just a bit), his thumb stroking along his jawline. Simmons melts into it, his perpetually tense shoulders finally relaxing, leaning into him. Grif smiles into the kiss, and Simmons' mouth opens up for him. Hell yeah. 

Grif makes sure to take his time, slow and unhurried as usual, savoring, and by the time he breaks the kiss they're both breathing more heavily, and when had Grif's hands made their way into Simmons' hair? Simmons' cheeks are already flushed, his mouth kiss-swollen, hair mussed, and a little bit of actual  _drool_ at the corner of his mouth. Grif grinned. Orderly Simmons would never be able to _stand_ the thought of _spit_ on his face. His devious plan was already working. He nuzzles his way into Simmons' neck before he notices and wipes it away, kissing his quickened pulse, and then licking a stripe there, earning himself a flustered squeak. Gross enough to scandalize, yet sexy enough to paralyze any complaints. He opens his mouth and _sucks,_ and Simmons' hand rise from Grif's hips to clutch at the back of his T-shirt as he sighs a contented, _"Grif..."_ that makes heat rise in the pit of his stomach, makes him suck _harder._

When he judges that he's done enough he leans back to start fumbling at Simmons' stupid button up shirt. Fuck, but did he have to button up so many of them? This was taking way too long for his liking. He wished he could just rip it apart, but Simmons would _definitely_ be too pissed to continue after that. When the last button's done away with, Grif starts kissing his way done the newly exposed expanse of pale, freckled skin. 

"Oh," Simmons gasps. He leans backwards, elbows and back propped up on the sofa's armrest so he still has a clear view, but in a more horizontal position now. Diagonal? Grif makes sure to throw in a few bites and nips along with the kisses and licks as he makes his way downward, which were met with sharp intakes of breath and poorly supressed moans in response. Finally, he makes his way to the golden pot at the end of the rainbow. Luckily, there's only one button and a zipper standing between him and his prize this time. They're done away with quickly, and he yanks the pants down enough that he can free Simmons Junior from his briefs. 

Simmons is already standing at attention, clearly interested in current events. Grif closes his mouth over the dick without fanfare, sliding downwards slowly, and Simmons lets loose his first unrestrained groan of the evening. Grif opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look up at him, half lidded and intent. Simmons meets his eyes and shudders, blush spreading down his body, nibbling on his lower lip (nice). He hesitantly cards a hand through Grif's hair, careful of snagging on tangles, and Grif closes his eyes again. He wishes he could sink his hands into Simmons' hair again without changing his position just yet. Up, down, up, down, deeper and deeper, liberal use of tongue, watch the teeth, he repeats to himself, trying helplessly to keep his focus on his task (dick-sucking) as Simmons seemed to be doing his level best to distract him with those _noises._

 _Fuck you're sexy when you lose control,_ he wanted to say, because it was okay to say embarrassing shit like that when the dicks were out. But he'd have to take his mouth off of Simmons' dick to do that, and _fuck that that was the worst idea ever._ And Simmons' hands remained carefully gentle in his hair, not pulling or pushing, only gently stroking and tugging, and fuck Grif loved this nerd so much. He knew Grif didn't like pain. He sped up a little bit for him, even though he preferred it slow. It was a little harder to keep doing all of the things (bob, deep, tongue, watch the teeth) with the extra speed, but he just concentrated harder. Simmons' cries, escalating in volume, really weren't helping, although Grif really wasn't about to say that he minded. 

"Grif, Grif, Grif," he said, and oh, he really liked that breathless tone of voice. Grif's hands stroked Simmons' thighs encouragingly, reassuringly, whatever he wanted it to be. "You're amazing. I love you, I love you." 

The confessions of eternal love were usually only busted out when the end was approaching. That was just fine by Grif, he was looking forward to giving his _own_ dick some attention. The way Simmons was squirming underneath him, desperate for friction, bursting apart at the seams with building tension and energy, was going to stay with him for some time. Grif pulled off and started jerking Simmons off, rough and fast the way that made Simmons lose his damn mind after Grif had spent so much time riling and keying him up with his customary patient and leisurely way of going about things. Simmons came with a hoarse shout, going taught like a bowstring and then relaxing as strings of come splattered over the length of his torso. 

Grif sat back on his heels and admired his work for a moment. Neat and proper Simmons laid in a sprawl on the couch, hair mussed, lips swollen and red, hickeys and bite marks trailing down his neck all the way to his treasure trail, clothes in disarray, come spattered on his skin. He was a panting mess, looking up at him dazedly. 

It was fucking beautiful. 


End file.
